The Audacity of Man
by Heaven Born Captain
Summary: A terrorist attack in Houston, Texas, has the team racing against the clock to prevent another. HP is the main focus, but the whole team's there. Casefic.
1. Chapter 1

I really wanted to write a solely Criminal Minds fic with HP in it, so here it is. It's not going to be too long-- I only have 10 chapters planned, but the chapters are of reasonable length. It is centred on Hotch and Emily, but it involves the entire team. I hope you enjoy and please drop me a line if you're reading this. I accept anonymous reviews, so even if yo're not logged in or you don't have an account, I would love to hear from you.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, locations or plots from Criminal Minds. I have the utmost respect for the writers, directors and producers, and do not intend to infringe any copyright laws. I am not making a profit from this story and am writing it for my enjoyment and the enjoyment of others.

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**Chapter One**

"_We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children." ~Native American Proverb_

---

Her pulse was racing, her breathing shallow, her reflexes jumpy, and somewhere in the middle of all that, twenty-four year old UHD grad student Anabelle Newton was trying hard to focus more on the term paper on "The Development of Wind Energy" she had due the following Wednesday than the task at hand. Her job was simple. She had to wait. Wait for her comrades to return and signal them if she noticed anything out of the ordinary.

But it was an ordinary summer night with ordinary moonlight and the ordinary chirping of crickets. There was nothing strange or bizarre about the landscape before her as she stood watch over the eastern block of the large compound, though, in actual fact, she was lying down, not standing. Anabelle could have compared herself to a lioness stealthily laying in wait as the gazelle chewed his morning mixture of grass and foliage, but she saw herself more as a Marine sniper in a Ghillie suit- minus the rifle of course.

She stole another look at her watch again. Nine-fourteen. Only three minutes after she last looked at her Bambi watch. There was an interesting story behind that watch. It had been given to her brother as child and she hadn't seen it in as many years, but last fall, when her brother's body returned from Afghanistan following an explosion at a checkpoint in Herat, the Marine Staff Sergeant from his unit informed her that he wore that watch every single day. The Marine had been a close friend of her brother's, and, at one time, a very, very close friend of hers, and the simple gesture of returning her brother's most prized possession to her was enough to re-ignite that spark she once considered lost… the day after the funeral. _And if only it had worked out_, she told herself. Alas, it had not. He returned to his post a week later, but she had still worn the watch every day since.

The sound of racing footsteps pulled Anabelle's attention back to the present. She sunk deeper into the bush that was providing her with the smallest bit of shelter and camouflage. The pace quickened slightly and she could discern the speedy whispers of two people. She need not have worried, however, because those were the voices of her two partners. They knew where she was and walked around her before crouching within a metre's proximity of her position.

"We're good to go," the more muscular of the two men informed her briskly.

"Did you let her know?" Anabelle asked. She had not yet peeled her eyes away from the scene in front of her, waiting and watching.

"Just roused her on the radio now," replied the leaner man.

Anabelle was feeling anxious. "Shouldn't be long now."

And it wasn't. Less than two minutes later, a fireball erupted into the sky. The explosion was deafening and its residual impact of blaring fire alarms and smaller blasts in the aftermath was carrying a booming aura through the air. The three of them were on the move now. They had limited time to make a getaway and they had spent too long watching the smoke rise to blanket the night's already starless sky.

---

The soft sounds of rainforest ambience and radiating scents of a mixture of bath oils were supposed to prove soothing for FBI Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss, but even the tranquillity of her Do-It-Yourself Nature Spa could not relieve the tension and anxiety of the past few days on the job. Their last case had been trying, but for her most of all.

She had nearly lost her life. The case had turned terrible when a murdered couple's toddler had been kidnapped. The UNSUB had never taken, or harmed, children before and there was no telling what would happen to the three and a half year old boy. Emily cracked the case as she was driving back to the precinct with Reid. And she had gone into the house, without waiting for back-up or instructions and against her better judgment, and found herself caught out as the UNSUB threatened to take the life of the child. She tried to talk him down. She even holstered her weapon. That appeared to calm the jumpy nerves of the psychotic serial murderer. She managed to convince him to let the child go. It was actually going well.

But then the mistake came. Not her mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. The SWAT team arrived and one of its members tried to bust down the door to grab the boy. It could have been heroic and it did save the boy's life, but it almost cost Emily hers. The guy got jumpy. He was afraid for his life now and felt trapped in a corner. And Emily knew that once that happened, morality and rationality had no place in his mind anymore. Fear would take over and there would be no reasoning. He would kill her.

She had almost prepared herself for it to happen. She closed her eyes. She heard a gunshot, and, strangely, felt no pain. After a moment, she dared to open them. Dark brown eyes were tunnelling down upon hers. She could hear his voice, but the words weren't registering. She was alive—that was all she could think of. And she was in the debt of the concerned party in front of her. Her boss. Aaron Hotchner.

Thinking of the way that he looked at her, stared at her, just moments after saving her from an untimely death sent goosebumps across her skin. She was lying there, exposed as the water and bubbles lapped over her soft skin, and all she could really recall from the shooting was the way he looked at her afterwards. She cracked a smile, unintentionally, as she remembered the difficulty she had had in writing her after-action report earlier that evening. It was hard to remain objective and factual when the only thing you could remember was the look your boss had in his eyes.

Emily wasn't even sure of why he had affected her so much. She didn't, however, even want to guess why or 'profile' herself. There was an unwritten covenant on intra-team profiling and she had told herself, time and time again, and especially when it came to her thoughts about Aaron Hotchner, that the agreement would definitely apply to her and herself. After all, both facets, the mind and the heart of Emily Prentiss, were a part of that team.

She snuck a look at her phone. It was almost two-thirty in the morning. She knew that she would regret this in the morning, but she was too wired still to sleep. She had hoped, in an irrational way, that relaxing jungle noises, candles and bath additives would work, but she knew that if it never worked on any other occasion, then it wouldn't work tonight. She wasn't quite sure what she needed exactly. Reassurance, perhaps? She didn't dare think about who would do that for her. Maybe a distraction? But she wasn't really the person for a one-night delight just to forget the pain of what had happened to her during the day.

Another case would definitely be a good distraction and a good reason for her to compartmentalise the raw emotion she was tenderly trying to detach from her reality. Although, she knew, another case would not help her sleep in the slightest. It would have the exact opposite effect. But she wasn't looking to sleep. She was looking to forget.

And tonight was her lucky night, it would seem. Her phone was buzzing on the small spa-side table that looked more like an elaborate shelf straight out of an Ikea catalogue. She dried her hands with a freshly laundered white towel and answered the phone.

"Prentiss."

"We have a case." She knew the gruff, to-the-point tone. But she'd never admit to anyone that she'd been thinking about the owner of that tone only a few minutes earlier while she lay, naked, in a bubble bath.

"I'll be right in," Emily replied quickly. She hid her enthusiasm well. She wasn't going to sleep anyway.

"Do you want a lift? I know it's early."

Emily was about to ask what the time had to do with her ability to drive to work, but her frontal lobe advised against it. She could've benefited from the company anyway. "Sure."

"I'll be there in twenty."

"Great, thanks." And she hung up, ignoring the development of butterflies in her stomach. She shrugged it off as excitement for the case ahead. She dried off quickly and straightened her hair. The Wet-to-Dry GHD was definitely worth its price on nights, or mornings, like this. She switched out the dirty laundry from her go bag and threw on a clean blouse and pair of grey pants. The door bell rang just as she holstered on her weapon. She answered it quickly.

She had to admit, she like his new haircut. It was short and spiky but it suited him and actually made him look younger. He was wearing a black suit, as usual, with a blue shirt and tie, but it was this attire that she liked him in. And yet she found herself pushing away thoughts of how he would look without the jacket and tie as she invited him inside.

He offered to grab her go-bag, but she declined. Chivalry may not be dead, but Emily Prentiss was definitely the type of woman that carries her own bag. _Hotch should have known that_, her inner self mused.

His SUV was parked in front of her building. The street was silent as they made their way to it. Wordlessly, Hotch unlocked the doors and walked around to the driver's side. Emily was grateful that he didn't offer to open her door. That would have really thrown her off the edge.

"What's the case?" Emily asked as soon as the car started moving.

Hotch flipped on the radio in reply and Emily listened intently to the breaking news. It was going to be a full-on case, that much she knew, but Hotch made no comment on it. Instead, he asked her a question she did not expect. "How are you feeling after today?"

"Yesterday," Emily corrected with a smile, avoiding the question.

"Yesterday," he repeated. "I apologise. I haven't been to bed, yet."

"Neither have I."

"Couldn't sleep?" Hotch asked, his voice uncharacteristically softer.

She deflected. "Could you?"

"I suppose not," he replied. "It was a difficult case." And he added an afterthought, "For all of us." But his tone gave it away. Emily could tell that he was trying to relieve some of the tension between them by putting the hardships of the case on the whole team and then, by proxy, them. It was a classic way of dealing with an uncomfortable situation, but she needed to remind herself not to profile him.

She was grateful when they arrived at Quantico. JJ and Reid were already waiting for them in conference room. Rossi arrived not five minutes after Emily and Hotch, and Morgan came last with Garcia, about ten minutes after.

JJ cut straight to the chase as soon as they took their seats. She passed out the files, speaking at the same time. "Houston needs our help." She switched the plasma on to the news which was currently displaying aerial shots of the blaze that fire fighters were still trying to control. "At approximately a quarter past nine this evening, local time, a bomb was detonated at an Emerson Petroleum oil storage facility outside Houston. Because of the facility's prestige structural integrity and risk management lay-out, the blast was only localised to a small area which includes some office space. Two supervisors and three other employees were killed in the explosion."

"Has anyone claimed responsibility for it yet?" Emily asked as she flicked through the preliminary crime scene report with photos.

"Houston's FBI field office hasn't picked up anything," JJ replied gravely.

"It sounds like a belief or action group of some kind," Reid added.

Morgan piggy-backed off the young genius' interpretation of the night's events in his own conclusion. "Terrorism."

"We're probably looking at eco-terrorism," Rossi put in. "An earth defence group or something of the like. We are talking about Houston here."

"Home to five of the six major oil companies in the US," Reid stated mathematically.

"And with an explosion as small as this, it's likely that this is just the beginning," Hotch concluded. He shut his file with a resounding oomph and got up from his seat. "Wheels up in twenty."


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to everybody who read and reviewed the last chapter.

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

* * *

**Chapter Two**

"_Let us thank God that we live in an age when something has influence besides the bayonet." ~Daniel Webster._

---

The crime scene was dusty on account of a wind storm during the early morning. The terrible weather definitely made the extinguishing of the fire all the more difficult, especially when the volunteers from the local fire department and the team of on-site fire fighters specially trained in chemical fires had to cordon off the blaze from spreading to other parts of the storage facility.

Morgan, Reid and Rossi arrived at the scene just after ten o'clock the following morning. Their black SUV rolled through the gate towards the region that was destroyed, stirring up more dust off the fragile ground. They parked around thirty feet from the damaged buildings and walked coolly over to the waiting FBI agent, officers from the local Sheriff's department and forensic techs. Rossi had left his sunglasses in the car while Morgan wore his as he walked right up to the blast seat, or the center of the explosion, where the bomb was located. Reid hung back, on the other hand, and stood non-threateningly with the local agent and officers, while Rossi made the introductions.

"You find out the material that was used in the bomb?" Morgan called out to them.

"We found trace evidence of nitrates in the blast area, sir," one of the techs answered. "Probably ammonium nitrate."

"A bomb with a low velocity explosion." Rossi was musing the reasoning behind the bomber's choice of material. "A small bombing. A targeted area."

Morgan walked back over to them. "The blast seat is directly beside those offices. It's a good guess to say that whoever it was aimed to kill them. A larger bomb would have easily destroyed this entire facility and killed a lot more people."

"Using a calculation of the blast radius, I can determine just how much ammonium nitrate was in the bomb," Reid stated matter-of-factly.

"I think the better question is what other chemicals were present in the bomb to cause it to explode," Rossi pointed out. "Ammonium nitrate is a fertiliser—it doesn't do this on its own." He head indicated in the direction of the blast site.

"The list of chemicals used will help us narrow down a suspect list if we can find out where they were purchased," the Houston FBI agent told them. "As you said, Agent Rossi, ammonium nitrate is a fertiliser. Lots of folks 'round here have access to it."

"In the 1995 Oklahoma City Bombing, the racing fuel, nitromethane, as well as the explosive material, Tovex, were mixed with two and a half tonnes of ammonium nitrate," Reid informed the small huddle of law enforcement. "Dozens of chemical mixtures can be used really to create an exothermic reaction that ignites the materials to a temperature over 170 degrees Celsius, but fuel oil is most likely."

"Look at where we are, kid," the agent blurted out.

"Does any one ecological preservation group have reason to attack Emerson Petroleum in such a way?" Rossi asked, changing the subject before an argument ensued.

---

The same question was being asked several miles away, back in downtown Houston, as Emily and Hotch spoke to Emerson Petroleum CEO, Daniel Tan.

"Recently, we've had trouble with one in particular," the short and balding Asian man answered. "Mother Nature's Defence."

"The MND have been involved in several protest movements around the country, particularly against oil refineries and coal mines," Emily put in.

"Well, they seem to have it in for my company," Tan replied bitterly. "I cannot understand why. In recent years, we have paved the way for the introduction of biofuels, adhered strictly to the Clean Air Act, even limited the effect that our off shore refineries have on local fauna. I am working just as hard to stop climate change and lessen our impact on the environment as anyone else in my position."

"I understand that, Mr Tan," Hotch said politely and considerately, "but I really need to get a sense of why your company was specifically targeted."

"I can't say that we have been anymore than any other major oil company in Texas, Agent Hotchner," Tan replied respectfully.

"Civil action, violent protesting…" Emily let her voice drain away.

"Nothing that would suggest this," Tan responded. "I did not foresee what happened last night."

Hotch nodded. "Thank you for your time, Mr Tan."

"I hope you catch the people responsible," Tan answered as he shook their hands.

Hotch turned to walk away first and Emily quickly followed.

"We have more questions for him," she hissed in a low voice at her superior.

"He doesn't know anything, Prentiss," Hotch replied even-toned, "and this group will strike again soon. If he can't add to our knowledge then our time is better spent elsewhere."

"If you're sure that he can't add to our knowledge," she commented in a low tone. It wasn't a question and he knew that. And he had to admit, he was a little astonished to see that she hadn't held back an angry retort, regardless of the fact that he was her superior. Hotch knew that he could call her out on it, but he wouldn't. She was Emily Prentiss, a strong and fiery woman, loyal and cunning, and she had proven herself to be, time and time again, an extremely adept profiler and asset to the team.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. Hotch looked over at her. She genuinely expressed the apology.

"For what?" he asked. They were nearly at their Bureau-issue black SUV now.

"For questioning your decisions," she answered honestly. "It's not my place."

_Except when you're right,_ the little voice inside his head told him. _Which is often._ He didn't voice his thoughts. Instead, he unlocked the car doors and stepped into the driver side. It wasn't until they were back on the road again that he answered her. "I always take your opinion into account."

She hadn't expected an answer at all, not after a few minutes of silence, and she definitely hadn't expected to hear that. A bitter retort, maybe, or a comment that put her back in her place, but she didn't envisage praise. It took her a full thirty seconds to come up with a reply. "You're the boss, Hotch, and you make the right calls. I have never seen you make the wrong one, so I don't even know why I am questioning you."

"You make good decisions as well, and yet sometimes I call them into question, even when I shouldn't."

Emily was now, well and truly, apprehensive about the route their conversation had taken. They were now hurtling off the cliff into unchartered and dangerous waters. "Are we talking about what happened yesterday?" She even dropped the 'sir' from her question.

"You know that I can't officially condone the way yesterday's events played out," Hotch reminded her, serious once again.

"I know that, sir." She didn't forget her manners that time.

"But I can't say I would have done it differently," Hotch told her earnestly. "My concern for you does not change the fact that you saved that boy's life." He was starting to wonder if the conversation was a good idea. Perhaps he had already said too much.

She had to stop herself from throwing him a strange look. It was hard to remain poised after the admission of concern that her boss had for her life. She realised that Hotch had noticed this and was trying to repair it.

"You are an invaluable part of this team."

"I am sorry for worrying you, Hotch, but I can take care of myself," Emily reiterated.

"And you saved the boy's life," he finished, "I know."

"But thank you for being concerned." She snuck an appreciative look in his direction, one that he reciprocated. They said nothing more for the final five minutes of the journey. Hotch parked crookedly outside the Houston field office and they walked briskly inside, narrowly avoiding the horde of reporters that had gathered out the front.

Morgan, Rossi and Reid had already arrived back when they entered the squad room. After all, it had taken Hotch and Emily an hour to get an appointment with the company's CEO.

"I think we're ready to give a preliminary profile," Rossi told the new arrivals in a low voice.

"The sooner, the better," Hotch agreed. "These UNSUB's aren't finished."

JJ nodded and gathered the local LEO's and FBI agents. It took them a few moments to settle and prepare to be spoken to. With the large amount of energetic officers and agents, Hotch felt like he was tutoring a high school class.

He started the briefing. "We are dealing with a hierarchical group structure. Every member of the group already has a tendency towards extremist activity, but it is the leader who harnesses it when he assumes the role of the leader—a Machiavellian type who slowly pushes the group's members towards radicalism."

"Is it a man?" one of the local agent's asked.

"More likely than not," Rossi responded, "and he will be of above average intelligence with more than a few arrests to his name."

"Most, if not all, of these arrests will be for political activism or civil disobedience or even resisting arrest," Emily informed the group. To any outsider, her position in front of the officers and agents, and directly beside Hotch, wouldn't have been intentional, but to her, it seemed like it was.

"This group has a common vision," Reid said, continuing the profile. "In this case, it's environmental protection. They believe that they can change these companies' policies through violence and force."

"They want nationwide recognition and, for this reason, they will contact the media," Morgan added. "There will be a message of some sort and because that message hasn't come yet, we believe that there will be more attacks to come."

"We must urge you, however, that victimising environmental groups in an effort to find this one faction will only further their resolve," JJ alerted the officers and agents, bringing the preliminary profile briefing to a close.

"Are you saying that we should be nice to these murderers?" an agent called out from the back of the room.

"I'm saying that you should keep that in mind during your interviewing of potential suspects or witnesses," JJ clarified forcefully.

The head of the field office chose that moment as the opportune one to intervene and dismiss the officers and agents. He gathered the BAU in a smaller conference room off to the side. "How do you think we should proceed?"

"We need files on all environmental groups in the area, Agent Porter," Hotch told him quickly, "particularly those that had run-ins with Emerson Petroleum. These types of attacks take a lot of planning and they are going to start with something that they know."

"Our Eco-Terrorism Task Force has a number of agents undercover in a few of the groups as we speak," Porter briefed them. "Why don't we see if they've picked up anything?"

"Because if they had then this wouldn't have happened," Rossi answered. He looked expectantly at Hotch. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"We need to speak to the members of this group ourselves," Hotch answered. Clearly, he had been thinking along the same lines as Rossi. "But they obviously won't speak to FBI agents."

"Can we authorise another undercover operation on short notice?" Morgan pondered. "This group will strike again soon and there are already FBI agents undercover."

"They probably already know the members of this group and they didn't pick up on the radicalism," Emily pointed out. "They're not profilers."

"Emily's right," Hotch decided, his authoritative voice taken charge, "we need someone in there."

Emily registered the unintentional use of her first name. It didn't happen often, she noted.

"We don't have a lot of time," Reid put in. "They won't be very trusting. We need someone non-threatening who can really get there way into this circle."

"Someone with the know-how to discern a group of extremists from a possible hundred or so people," Morgan added.

Every single male member of the BAU nodded their heads, simultaneously looking in Emily's direction.

"Looks like we have an assignment for you," Hotch told her, smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

Slightly loncger chapter than usual here. I hope that you all enjoy it. Thanks to everyone who has been reviewing.

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

"_You can fool some of the people all the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all the time." ~Abraham Lincoln._

---

The forty-something, Afro-Asian SSAIC had never met a team like this one before. He noticed, in their actions and reactions with each other, the word family came more to mind than team. If his office meshed that well together, he'd probably be up for a promotion to join the suits at J. Edgar Hoover. But no relationship was more peculiar to him than that of the Unit Chief and the brunette profiler. Blake Porter wondered if, perhaps, that was the reason SSA Hotchner did not have a higher post than he currently held. _Or maybe he just likes the BAU_, the tall, athletic man pondered.

But whatever the status of their liaison, Porter knew that there was more to it than meets the eye. Their stolen looks, and conversations, their habitual actions, all fed life into their intense relationship. He worked with them and the skinny kid—Porter had so many people come through his office everyday that he rarely took the time to learn names—all afternoon, and he found himself wondering what road their friendship would eventually take, mentally chastising his imagination for watching far too many daytime soaps with his wife during his two-month period of medical leave. He was recovering from a bad shooting and had been back at work for only a few months when this happened.

They were preparing to wrap up their plan for the following day and leave for dinner as seven o'clock rolled around and the team's other three agents returned with nothing substantial to report on the victims. Their technical analyst's story was the same—the five low level employees that were killed were law-abiding, tax-paying citizens.

Porter found himself glancing at his watch for the past hour, rarely leaving more than ten minutes between checks. He suspected that one or more of the profilers had picked up on the behaviour and decided to call it a night. After a five minute discussion, bordering argument between the Unit Chief and the only female profiler, Porter watched them come to a consensus on what they were going to eat. He had one of his assistants give them the address of a nice place to eat before heading home to his seething wife—he'd left far too early that morning.

---

Dinner at the Aladdin Arabian Restaurant was a raucous affair. First they discussed, rather animatedly and aggressively, the profile they'd given to the local agents and police officers, then the profile of the followers for Emily to look out for, and then they argued about whether or not they should be discussing work over dinner and in such a public place. Hotch finally decided, at a quarter past ten, that it was well past time to call it night.

They were staying at different hotels. Morgan, Rossi and JJ were still dwelling at the upmarket hotel that had originally been booked for their team, while Emily, Hotch and Reid were moving to the lower end motel that would house Emily's alias for the duration of the operation. They hadn't settled on anything about her alter self except it's recent move to Houston. In fact, the 'alter ego' Emily was going to be living out a suitcase for the next few days.

Reid's room was the size of a wardrobe and Hotch's wasn't much bigger. Emily told both of them that that is what the Bureau means by budgeting excessive expenses. Her room, on the other hand, was slightly larger than both of theirs put together. Hotch discovered this when he came knocking at her door not long after midnight.

He wasn't sure what brought to her doorstep, metaphorically speaking, because there was no step at the door. He had told himself that it was to discuss his plans for her undercover alias, but he'd already told her that it could be done over breakfast the following morning. With that in mind, he couldn't think of anything to say when she answered the door.

"Hotch? Is everything okay?"

He wondered what her response to a stutter would be.

"Come in," she told him in a low voice as she pulled the door towards her and allowed his body to brush ever so slightly passed hers. It sent shivers down her spine. "Do we still have something more to discuss?"

He just looked at her. She was in a pair of sweat pants and a baggy t-shirt, while he still wore his suit. And in her domain, her world, he most certainly felt out of place. Slowly, the words came. "I thought we could get a jump on this case. We don't have much time and I won't be able to pick your brain while you're undercover."

She sat on the edge of her bed and returned the stare. "Pick my brain? You sure know the way to a girl's heart." She immediately regretted the implication, grinning widely to cover herself and overdoing it.

But if he understood the insinuation, he didn't show it. Instead, he laid the case files over her bed next to her and then leant coolly up against her round dining table, crossing arms expectantly. "Garcia's going to work all night securing your alias based on what I have decided."

"I'm listening." And her attentiveness showed it.

"Emily Adams, 36. Photographer from New York City. You lost your job with _Newsweek_ magazine four weeks ago when the company made budget cuts. Since then, you've been freelancing for a number of environmental, wildlife and general science magazines."

She appeared pleased with the summation when he finished. But pleased was not the emotion she communicated verbally. It was sarcasm, rather. "You know, Hotch, I've never left it to a man to tell me about the intimate details of my life before."

She had genuinely meant it as a joke and the smile that cracked on Hotch's face told her that he had taken the comment as one, but she had no idea why she responding to him in such a manner. First there was at her condo the night before, then in the SUV earlier that day and now at her hotel room. In the past twenty-four hours, she'd spent more time with him than with every single other member of the team combined.

"But do you agree that it suits well enough?" His voice turned serious without warning and Emily recognised that the time for joking was over.

"Of course. Why are you asking me?"

"This is going to be you for the next few days. And I told you the same thing earlier today, I trust your judgment." Using his strong and manly palms, he pushed his weight off the table and walked slowly towards Emily. She did not expect to see him shove the files out of the way and sit beside her.

"Have you called your son today?" She couldn't tell what was up with her self-control, but she knew, from years of inadvertently profiling her boss, that if there was ever a time for him to answer a personal question, it was now, late at night while he was sitting with her, on her bed and in her hotel room.

He looked away, seemingly showing signs of embarrassment. She hadn't intended to put him on the spot with a personal question and she was about to withdraw it when he answered. And it was then that she realised that he was not embarrassed to be talking about it to her, but ashamed of his answer. "No. Not today."

Emily gave him a sympathetic and understanding look. "It has been a very difficult and long day."

"But it's no excuse," he added.

"Do you want me to berate you?"

He looked at her with a slight smile. If anyone was good at throwing a joke into a tense situation, it was Emily. _And she seemed to be falling back on her humour a lot lately_, Hotch realised, thinking about the past few days with her.

"You will call him when you get a chance," she told him. It was a statement, as though she could foresee or predict his movements in future. If anyone else, except perhaps Rossi, were to say this to him, he would shrug it off as unhelpful demoralisation.

"Tomorrow morning," he decided.

"That sounds good."

Hotch nodded and stood up, but didn't walk away. He moved just slightly so that he was almost standing in front of Emily. Any profiler could tell that this stance was dominating—a superior looking down on his inferior, but it didn't feel that way at all for either of them. He was still looking at her as she anxiously shuffled with the FBI files. "Do you think you'll be prepared enough for this operation?"

She stopped shuffling and looked back up at him, her expression placid. "You don't need to be so concerned for me, Aaron." She made a motion to stand up, but almost fell back as her calves collided with the edge of the bed. Hotch, using his ever-present fast reflexes, caught her hands and helped her up.

He shot a peculiar look in her direction. "You never call me Aaron." He didn't realise that he was still holding her, and neither did she.

"It's your name, isn't it?" Emily rebuked, sending that dense wall around her emotions straight up. "Besides, Dave calls you Aaron."

"I suppose that's true," he answered and then looked down at their intertwined hands. He loosened his grip immediately and found that he was disappointed by the loss of contact. Automatically, Hotch found himself searching out the exit with his eyes.

"I guess we should be sleeping," Emily put forward.

"Yes, you need to rest," Hotch agreed and started towards the door.

"So do you," Emily added as she followed him.

He opened the door and then turned around to face her, lingering in the doorway. She was standing so close to him, close enough for him to smell her shampoo. He didn't want to admit it, didn't even want to be thinking about it, but it made him want to run his fingers through her long curly locks even more. He found it hard, dangerously hard, to focus on leaving.

"This operation, Hotch…" she began, but lost the right words.

"Yes?"

Swallowing hard, she found them again. "Will you have my back?"

Emily was looking into his eyes, but his eyes were on her luscious and ready lips, daring him to lean in just a little closer. It took all of his willpower to bring his eyes back up to her level and answer her truthfully. His reply was soft and honest, and she appreciated it.

"Always, Emily." There was a small amount of silence before he picked up the courage to leave. "Goodnight."

And he stepped out of the doorway, allowing her to close and lock the door. She pressed her forehead to it and didn't move for several seconds. And she couldn't help the response from escaping her lips. "Goodnight, Aaron."

---

Hotch still couldn't work out what had come over him the previous, all he knew was that he shouldn't have gone to Emily's room so late. Now he couldn't stop thinking about it, replaying their conversation over and over again in his head, hoping he had said the right things. He struggled to pay attention to Reid and Rossi when they reported back to him just after lunch—they'd been to interview the MND leader, Ethan Laker.

They were saying things like "he knows more than he's telling" and "we don't think he's directly involved" as well as "seemed genuinely concerned and distressed about the lives lost." It took all of Hotch's power of reasoning to stay, listening to them, instead of running out the door to speak to Emily.

Her undercover mission was about to begin. Morgan had taken her to meet an agent the FBI already had in the MND and she was scheduled to join that agent at a protest within the next few hours. He was concerned, his gut wrenching with the worrisome feeling that something might happen to her. After all, none of them could be with her or even watching her every step of the way. He actually looked forward to when the day was over and she'd be safe in her motel room. At least then he would know exactly where she was and what she was doing.

Hotch scolded his protective streak. A part of him, the rational profiler, knew that Emily Prentiss was an extremely adept FBI agent, capable of adapting to any situation that she was presented with and definitely proficiently independent when it came to taking care of herself. He'd seen that in her eyes when he offered to carry her go-bag after he picked her up for the case.

"I think we should keep an eye on him." It was Rossi's voice that finally brought him back to reality.

"Two of us should stay on him tonight," Hotch agreed. "Groups like this often have their meetings at night."

"You and Morgan should go," Rossi offered. "You look like you need to get out of the office. Reid and I will watch Emily for the night."

Hotch nodded. He wasn't about to let Rossi know that he would much prefer to be the one watching over Emily. He knew that older profiler could probably see through the façade—only Emily perhaps knew him better than Rossi—but there was something that could be said for admitting it. Maybe he was an addict and torturing himself with thoughts of Emily was his drug. The first step to solving a problem is admitting he had one, and he definitely was not ready to admit anything, be it to himself, Rossi or even Emily. As usual, his emotions and his feelings would stay buried deep under that alpha male blanket, his shield against an unjust world.

---

Protesting was something that Emily never did during her time at Yale. She was far too busy with other things. Study wasn't really one of those things. She would never tell anybody about her time at Yale, her belonging to a temple of secrets. It wasn't that she was ashamed of her affiliation—she learnt a lot at that time—but the reaction of common folk wasn't something to be desired. And there were rules to be followed, even more than a decade after she left them. It was just another thing she could add to her secret past.

There was something familiar about this gathering, however. The people around her, from college students to men and women in their sixties or seventies, appeared close-knit and friendly. They were shouting and crying for a change, a change that Emily wondered if it ever would come, but they had expressions of happiness and togetherness. As she looked around her, she really wondered if any of them could be a cold-blooded killer.

If Emily was to be honest, then she wasn't a huge partaker in the custodianship of the environment. Sure, she turned her lights off when she wasn't using them to preserve energy, she didn't overuse water when showering and she always recycled, but she never really altered her lifestyle to protect any part of the environment, and she was starting to wonder if she should.

The research Emily had done into climate change and global warming was a vital part of her undercover operation, and yet she felt that as soon as it was over, she should really do something more to go about making a change. After all, it was really quite unbelievable that Western countries and governments, in all their scientific advances and abilities, had made no real effort to alter the collective effect that they were having on the environment that fed, clothed and sheltered them. She couldn't really blame all these people, then, for coming out and having something to say about it, knowing that, at the same time, nothing was an excuse for murder.

Her digital camera, a vital part of her alias, was hanging loosely by her side. She felt compelled to bring it up and take a few shots. It would certainly help with appearance amongst the other protestors.

"Excuse me." A young woman with dark brown hair and olive skin interrupted her. "Are you taking photos of us?"

Emily unconsciously brought her large, black Canon down to her side. "Yes," she admitted nervously. "I'm a photographer." She knew it was better to show vulnerability than aggressiveness.

"For who?"

_A little nosy_, Emily wondered. _But she could help me find out some information._ "I'm freelancing for a few eco mags at the moment."

"Really?" The woman looked excited. "Anabelle Newton."

"Emily Adams," the undercover agent replied, shaking with her free right hand.

"I haven't seen you around before."

"I just moved from New York. I was working for _Newsweek_ magazine but I was laid off about a month ago."

"That sucks!" And Anabelle genuinely seemed sorry for her. "The market?"

"The market."

Then Anabelle did something unexpected. She dragged over another friend of hers. "Ryan!"

A guy with light, sandy hair and a definite 'surfer' appearance strolled over to them. He didn't look any older than twenty-five and probably a college student. Anabelle made the introductions. "Ryan McCready, Emily Adams." She pointed at each of them respectively. "Ryan, Emily just moved here from New York. She's a photographer."

"I can see that," he replied, his eyes on the large camera. "You enjoying Houston?"

"Warmer weather," Emily admitted. _Talking about the weather, _Emily thought sardonically. _Sure fire way to get a conversation moving._

"Did either of you hear what happened at the oil storage place a few days ago?" Ryan asked.

The question was definitely added to make conversation, and for only that reason, but Emily's ears perked up at the mention of it. She doubted that anyone involved would really bring it up in conversation, but if they were asked about it, they would express their support.

"It was a shame that people had to die," Emily mentioned.

"I agree, but at least they might be listening," Ryan put in. "I feel bad for those people, too, don't get me wrong, but I wish these companies could be doing something more."

"We know that they could be doing something more," Anabelle ejected. Emily had watched her act scarcely silent ever since Ryan started the conversation, so she was surprised to see her speak and so pointedly. "So where are you staying, Emily?"

She noted the deliberate changing of the subject, but still didn't really suspect the young woman of anything. Emily was normally an excellent judge of character, and Anabelle's character was good-natured and friendly. So she answered the question. "In a motel, still. I'm looking for a place, but nothing in my price range yet."

---

Morgan didn't really want to spend the evening with his boss in their black SUV a few houses away from Ethan Laker's place. He could sense some sort of urgency or anxiety in Hotch, but would sooner prefer to have his tongue run over by a herd of stampeding wildebeest than mention anything. If Hotch wanted to talk, then Morgan would listen, but he was bringing anything up in conversation.

He'd seen it before, had been seeing in his boss for a while now, but it became especially prominent very recently after Emily went off on her own in the Lund case and nearly got herself killed. He'd been outside the place with Hotch and watched the older profiler storm into the house, his gun ready to fire and then come out grasping Emily tightly like he didn't dare let her go. And this was after he fired the three shots that killed the man threatening her. When it came to Emily, Morgan could see that Hotch was all over the map. His normally controlled behaviour would become just noticeably erratic and he would only calm down if he knew she was safe.

Morgan didn't think he was just being a chauvinist, he didn't think that at all, and he knew that Hotch's feelings for her ran deep. If he couldn't see that, then he didn't deserve to be on the team. They complemented each other and he knew that the superior agent never really intended to let his emotions run away from him. Now the only thing that Morgan wondered was how long Hotch could keep them in check. He was doing a good job of it, Morgan knew, but with recent events he knew that Hotch would be placed under a lot of pressure. And it was pressure that threatened to tinker with the unsteady balance.

"The protestors Emily met today offered her lodging at their house when she mentioned that she was still looking for a place," Hotch informed Morgan, cutting across the younger man's dangerous thoughts.

"Does she suspect them?"

"No, but it'll give her a gateway into these groups," Hotch replied, his eyes still on Laker's house.

"Then what has you so worried?"

Hotch sighed. He looked tired, exhausted really, and Morgan could to that he hadn't been sleeping well. "We won't be able to keep an eye on her if she's living with them."

"She needs to do it, Hotch," Morgan told him strongly.

"And if something happens to her?"

Morgan was worried about the direction their conversation had taken. He honestly didn't want to be discussing it and he didn't want his boss to admit to something that he would regret the following morning.

"I promised her that we'd have her back," Hotch said in a small voice.

"And we will," Morgan replied. He had now abandoned the point of their stakeout to compose his boss. "I know that you will."

Hotch looked a little slyly at Morgan but said nothing.

"You lead this team, Hotch, and you look out for each and every one of us. You do a good job at it, I have to say, because with the amount of crap that this team has had to deal with and the fact that we're all still here, together, says something about your abilities."

"You think she will be okay?"

"Why not? She's capable and good at what she does."

Hotch took a moment to ponder it, then nodded appreciatively. "Thank you, Morgan."

"Yeah, well, somebody's gotta kick your ass back into gear," he muttered under his breath, fully intending the other man to hear it.


	4. Chapter 4

Apologies for the long time between updates. I'm in the middle of exams at the moment and I've been having technical difficulties with my laptop. Sarramaks- I'm gonna catch up on your story today, probably after my exam this afternoon. Thanks everyone for reading and please review.

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

* * *

**Chapter Four**

"_God has given you one face, and you make yourself another." ~William Shakespeare._

---

The decision to move in with Anabelle Newton, Ryan McCready and their roommate, Jacinta "Jace" Perry, was not a difficult one for Emily to make. She sensed some reservation on Hotch's part, but she steamrolled ahead at a full throttle pace nonetheless. The next day, she had moved what little belongings the FBI technical team had thrown in at the last moment and moved, via a taxi, to the suburban household on the outskirts of Houston.

Whilst Jace definitely did not appear pleased with the arrangement, and Anabelle was a little skeptical, for reasons unknown to Emily, Ryan was pleased to welcome their new friend and cohabitator. The change in the economic outlook over the past few years had put a dent in their finances and their rent had skyrocketed exponentially. They were barely making ends meet and Ryan's argument was that with an extra pair of hands and an extra wallet to foot the food, rent and living expenses bill, they would finally be able to put food on the table without the worrisome concern that there would be no money for the following night's dinner.

Emily had a room to herself at the front of the house and, whilst it wasn't a very large room, she had a prime view of the road where at least one FBI surveillance team would be at all times, and her window was large enough to fit through if need be. However, if was more than a ten foot drop to the ground, so going out of her window was definitely not in her top 5 ways to get out of there. She doubted that she would be undercover long enough to grow hair as long as Rapunzel and a makeshift rope comprised of torn bed sheets would be more than a peculiar sight to any passers-by.

With her innate baking ability, Emily was able to astound her new bedfellows with an array of specially crafted cakes and muffins on her very first day in the house. Jace, for the first time, looked appreciative of the undercover agent's presence. She was an attractive woman, with light skin and light brown hair. Although it was the different colouring of her eyes that made her unique. Emily suspected that one eye, the darker one, was shielded by a birth mark, whereas the intact eye was a light hazel. She was, by no means, very tall either, only measuring up to about 150 cm or 4' 11". But she was older than the younger two college grad students and at least as old as Emily. She almost wondered what she was doing living with college students, but she supposed they were friends from the political activism and when somebody needs room and board, they'll go almost anywhere.

Emily soon learnt, later that day, that there was another protest scheduled for the afternoon in the same place. This time they intended to draw hundreds more people. It would be stronger and more passionate, Emily knew, and she alerted Hotch and the team to this when she got the chance. If anything was to happen at the protest, she would need them there.

Strangely, she realised in the backseat of Ryan's hybrid machine, her lifestyle with her new roommates had not been altered too significantly by their beliefs. Sure, they recycled just about everything, didn't use plastic bags and had barely any garbage, and then there were Ryan's school experiments, but she didn't feel pressured at all to adopt a totally different way of life. Ryan was an engineering student studying alternate sources of energy and had installed several solar panels, after getting their landlord's approval, on the roof of the house. It wasn't too bad for two college kids and an almost middle-aged woman who was struggling to make ends meet.

His hybrid was the household's only car and he'd told Emily that it was a birthday gift from his parents who live in Oregon. Jace, who was a lobbyist for environmental policy change downtown, rode her bike to work every single morning and Anabelle carpooled with Ryan and a few other friends from the MND on the day they both had classes at the University of Houston-Downtown.

Emily stared out the window as the little car made its way through the streets of downtown Houston. The city had actually done a lot of very good work in the effort to go 'green' and research into renewable sources of energy placed the city towards the forefront in the fight against climate change. The protest would be held outside the City of General Services Department: City Hall, and they would be arriving before it was scheduled to begin to set up.

It went off without a hitch and, about an hour in, Emily spotted Morgan in the crowd wearing a Snoopy t-shirt with the slogan "Save our World," while Emily's shirt was green with bold, black writing saying "Save the Scenery, Save the World," taken from the popular Heroes catchphrase.

The entire afternoon was supposed to work out flawlessly. Their protest was loud, but they weren't breaking any laws, however, Emily noticed an increase in police presence from the previous day. With the recent attack, she knew that Houston PD would jump at any chance to bring one of the tree-hugging hippies in for questioning, not that she blamed them. What she hadn't counted on, however, was a counter-environmental movement organised by the oil companies' employees. In a global city as large as Houston, where it could be considered the energy capital of the world, there was bound to be some conflict between the ecological preservation groups and the workers employed by the energy companies. However, it was rare for them to be in direct contact.

Emily saw a clash before it happened and knew she had to get out of there. Standing at the forefront of the rally with her new roommates, there was little opportunity, unfortunately, for her to escape. And things were about to get worse for her. Ryan, who was in the vanguard position, collided with the burly workers first. She knew that he did not initiate any contact, he was too much a pacifist for that, but he had a tendency to act defensively when he or his profound beliefs were brought into question. She lurched forward to his aid, ill-advisedly of course, and found herself worrisomely close to strike from the closest hulky man.

She avoided it, narrowly, and pulled Ryan away, but as she turned around she came face to face with two irate police officers. The larger one grabbed Ryan and immediately threw him to floor. The lanky younger man fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The other officer started towards Emily and she threw her arms out to the side in surrender. She was cuffed, as was Ryan, and they were led away.

Over the top of the screams and the anxious running of individuals to join the riot, Emily could see Morgan savagely yelling something into his cell phone. But her eyes couldn't follow him for very long—she was already being loaded into the back of a police car with Ryan, who was bleeding from a small laceration above his eyebrow after he was thrown to the floor so viciously by the police. She would absolutely have something to say to Hotch about their use of excessive force when she next saw him.

"Ryan, psst," Emily hissed quietly, "psst. Are you okay?"

Ryan looked at her with a painful expression. "Emily. Am I bleeding? I think I might be bleeding."

"It's just a small cut. How does your head f-"

Emily didn't get the chance to finish her question and Ryan didn't get the chance to answer.

"No talking back there." The brusque-voiced officer in the passenger seat was plump enough to be a major contender for The Biggest Loser, in Emily's opinion, and it made her wonder how he managed to pass his physical every year. She hoped that Ryan wouldn't antagonise the situation by suggesting he lay off the donuts.

The police car was in motion now, its sirens deafening as they hastened through the wide roads of downtown Houston. The precinct, the same one that she knew some of the officers were from, was not far away. She was starting to sweat now. If any of those officers recognised her as one of the FBI agents from the Behavioural Analysis Unit, if she was going to be made, then they may never learn who or which group was behind the attack before the next strike came.

Keeping her head down, she allowed the leaner officer to push her through the station. She took a chance and looked up. It was quite empty. Most of the police officers, Emily guessed, had been called out to deal with the riot. After their mug shots were taken and their fingerprints recorded, they were forcefully encouraged towards the holding cell at the back, cuffs still binding their wrists.

The binds were finally removed and she was edged into the cell, with Ryan directly behind her, and then locked in. The clank of the lock as iron chafed iron was a familiar sound, but Emily had never before found herself on the other side of that iron gate.

She turned around to see her comrade already lying across one of the few bolted benches in the aboveground dungeon. "Are you okay?"

"You already asked me that question," Ryan replied with a groan.

"And I didn't get an answer."

He sat upright and smiled. "Yeah, well, that's because Ronald McDonald interrupted."

Emily chuckled at the joke. "You know, for being the father of the fast-food industry, Ronald McDonald is pretty slim."

Ryan only smiled, but Emily could see the grimace behind it. "My head hurts," he finally admitted.

"I'll bet. You hit the pavement pretty hard."

"I probably shouldn't have gone at that oil worker."

Emily sat beside him. "He came at you, Ryan. And I'll tell the officers that."

The young grad student shrugged. "They just want to keep their jobs. There's nothing wrong with that. But there will be plenty of positions created in the renewable energy sector. There income doesn't need to come at the expense of our planet."

"You're right. There is so much more that everybody could be doing."

Ryan smiled at her. "You know something, Emily, I'm glad that you moved in. The girls might not be, they're a little wary of strangers, but I am."

Emily laughed, ignoring the pang of guilt in her stomach. "I only moved in because you couldn't afford the rent."

Ryan grinned too. "That's true. But I like having you around."

"I like being around," Emily admitted. In truth, she really liked the group, especially Ryan. His easy-going, charismatic and intelligent character was enough to charm his way into any woman's pants, or, in this case, heart. She could consider him a friend and she hated the fact that their entire friendship was based on the deceitful story concocted up one late night by her boss. In some ways, Ryan was the anti-Hotch. From their eye and hair colour to their nature, they were very different, but Emily could see the more pronounced similarities. They both cared, a lot, passionate about something in their own right, and they both had an uncanny ability to relate to people. It almost brought a smile to her face, thinking about what Hotch would say when he discovered she'd been arrested.

Or maybe it did.

"You're smiling," Ryan pointed out. His voice changed, just like it normally did when he caught onto something. "What are you smiling about?"

_For a guy, he is really into gossip_, Emily deliberated. "Just thinking about how we'll get out of here." Her answer wasn't entirely false.

"Any ideas?"

"Does anyone have any money to bail us out?"

Ryan shrugged. "They'll probably keep us in here long enough to question us about that explosion the other night."

Emily could feel the excitement rock her to the core as she countered his statement. "Well, I don't know anything. I was still in New York. I got in the day after it."

"Me neither," Ryan replied with a nonchalant expression. "I was studying for an exam at the library with a whole group of friends and then we saw it on the news. My pal, Chas, got sent a 'breaking news' email alert."

"You pull an all-nighter?" Emily asked conversationally.

"Yeah, we had this crazy difficult exam the next day. I can't wait to finish my Masters degree so I can be finished with the study."

"The all-nighters probably won't go away when you enter the workforce, Ryan," Emily informed him knowledgeably.

"How many all-nighters have you pulled?"

"More than my fair share. I had deadlines on major stories I was working on when I was still at Newsweek."

There was a short pause where neither party had anything to add. But Ryan soon voiced the concern that was weighing on his heart. "I can't believe that one of my friends is a killer. It has to be someone from our movement, right?"

"Maybe," Emily pondered aloud, "but are you telling me that you know each and every environmental activist in Houston? In Texas?"

'No' was the answer Ryan expressed nonverbally. "I guess not."

"I hope not," Emily put in, "because then I might know them, too."

It made Ryan chuckle again.

They did not remain alone for long. Their conversation discontinued to be so personal when other activists, some of which Emily had never seen before and others of which Ryan knew only by sight, were driven into the cell. It was becoming increasingly cramped and stayed that way for about an hour until…

"Emily Adams, Ryan McCready," called out a young officer that Emily recognised from the FBI office when her team gave the preliminary profile. By the way he was acting, she could only assume that he was under orders not to divulge any information about her true identity. "You're free to go."

"Without charge?" Emily asked in disbelief.

"Yes." It was a simple, scripted answer.

She shrugged to her roommate and they walked through the precinct side-by-side.

"They're letting us go?" Ryan hissed at Emily. "Why are they letting us go?"

"Probably because we didn't do anything," Emily answered as she collected the personal effects that had been taken from them when they were arrested. "Will you call Anabelle or Jace and have them pick us up?"

"I'm glad that I gave Anabelle the car keys now," Ryan announced, grinning.

Emily returned the expression. "Were you going to let her freeze without her jacket?"

Ryan didn't answer the question. It was rhetorical anyway.

---

A solemn, yet comfortable silence gripped the household that night. There was not much to discuss about the day, nothing that needed to be said. Anabelle and Ryan were studying, Jace was preparing a brief, and Emily was upstairs with her Dell laptop flicking through photos of whaling, oil spills and Arctic ice degradation on her laptop. Her phone buzzed loudly on her bedside table. A message from Hotch.

'_We need to talk. ASAP.'_

Emily typed back rapidly before deleting his message, in case her phone fell into the wrong hands.

'_I'll c wot I can do.'_

She wasn't sure how she would get out of the house to speak, but the opportunity presented itself to her not five minutes later.

"We need bread and milk!" Jace was shouting from downstairs. "Any volunteers?"

"I'll do it," Emily called back with a mischievous smile. "Just give me a sec to save this."

She grabbed her phone and texted Hotch quickly.

'_Need bread and milk. Hav some1 get it and bring it to us. Meet u at the park around the corner in 5.'_

Emily closed her laptop, grabbed her phone and wallet, and raced downstairs.

"Multigrain bread, please, Em," Ryan cried from his room upstairs.

"Yeah," Emily called back. She ran into, literally, Jace at the bottom of the stairs.

"Sorry," the brunette said bashfully.

"In a rush?"

"Excited to drive Ryan's car," Emily lied. It was a convincing lie too. She grabbed the keys off the small table in the hallway and started towards the door.

"Can you get soy and light, please, Emily?" Jace asked as she was walking away.

"Sure." And without another word, she was out there door. She opened to the driver side door and had to edge the front seat back—Jace had driven to pick them up. She pulled out of the driveway, illegally typing a text to Hotch at the same time, made a turn at the T-intersection, and stopped at the park away from the streetlights. Hotch was already waiting for her.


	5. Chapter 5

Again, I apologise for the delay in updates. This chapter officially marks halfway through the story, something for which I'm glad. Hope that you enjoy it and please review.

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

* * *

**Chapter Five**

_Previously on The Audacity of Man…_

_She grabbed her phone and texted Hotch quickly._

'Meet u at the park around the corner in 5.'

_She pulled out of the driveway, made a turn at the T-intersection, and stopped at the park away from the streetlights. Hotch was already waiting for her._

---

"_Feelings are not supposed to be logical. Dangerous is the man who has rationalized his emotions." ~David Borenstein._

---

"What happened today?" Blunt and to the point. She could tell that Hotch was angry. "Agent Prentiss?"

Okay, really angry with her.

"I wasn't to blame for this, Hotch," she reasoned, the rational part of her brain, which never seemed to work well around him, especially not recently, telling her to remain calm and brief him on the day's events from her perspective. After all, he said that he trusted her, and for him to admit that to her was something exceptional.

"You were arrested," his voice was laced with anger and another emotion that Emily couldn't quite put her finger on. And she had no idea as to why he was so enraged.

"I was trying to pull Ryan away," Emily started to explain. She stopped. Hotch was emanating an expression that told her that no amount of explanation would cover her actions. And that made her furious. "I didn't know there was going to be a counter-protest today."

"Nor did I."

"Then why is this my fault? Why didn't you have Garcia monitoring the social networking sites? She could've picked up on this and then I wouldn't have even been there." She regretted the insubordination, but she spoke the truth, and with the way her emotions were running away from her, she was grateful that worse didn't spill from her gaping orifice.

Hotch just looked at her, and Emily found that it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. It was the second time she'd apologised for her outbursts in as many days and if she wasn't careful, she knew, then she would go back to DC without a job. "I hadn't meant that. I know that you're working hard on this. I'm just… tired." And she genuinely looked it.

Hotch's face changed. It was no longer a mess of anger and disappointment, but rather, a clam mix of sympathy and understanding, and possibly something else, but Emily couldn't tell.

"You are right, though," Hotch admitted, a little bashfully. "I missed it and it's my fault that you were thrown into that situation. I'm the one who should be apologising."

He was handing her the white flag? Emily had not expected that when she stepped out the silver hybrid a few minutes earlier. "Accepted." She was smiling now.

"Did you find out anything about your new friends?"

"Uh, yeah," she told him, a little confounded by the speedy change in subject, "Ryan has an alibi for the night of the attack. He was studying with a group of classmates in the library at UHD."

"And the others?"

"I haven't spoken much to Anabelle or Jace about it," Emily conceded, "but I don't get a bad vibe from them. Jace seems distant, reclusive, almost introverted, and I haven't really spoken to her about anything yet."

"She's a lobbyist," Hotch enlightened her. "Rossi and Reid are going over her submitted reports as we speak and she focuses a lot on the harmful effects of illegal dumping and breaches of the Clean Air Act on both humans and the local ecosystems. Emerson Petroleum has had some trouble adhering to the Clean Air Act, even if their CEO denies it. They were fined $160, 000 last year by the EPA."

"I can see if she's left her notes lying around somewhere," Emily offered. "It might give us more insight."

"Good idea. Now what do you know about Anabelle?"

Emily sighed. She liked Anabelle and genuinely didn't believe her to be involved in the bombing, but the rational part of her brain said otherwise. "When I met Ryan, he brought up the subject of the bombing with Anabelle and she appeared uninterested or perhaps unwilling to talk about it."

"Well, which was it? Uninterested or unwilling?"

"I'm not sure," Emily admitted. She was slightly abashed about this confession, but she really couldn't tell.

Hotch didn't push her. "Okay."

Headlights beamed towards them and Emily desperately hoped that it was Morgan bringing the bread and milk. They were standing there, only inches from each other, in the desolate dead zone, lightless and noiseless, and they remained motionless when the black SUV came to a stop beside them.

The electric window scrolled down. "Soy and light milk, and multigrain bread," Morgan announced, holding up the plastic bag.

Emily glared at him. "In a plastic bag?!"

He realised his mistake. "Hippies," Morgan cursed under his breath.

"There are probably calico bags in the back of Ryan's car," Hotch put in, unperturbed.

_You beautiful man._ Emily could have thanked him a million times over. _And in a million different ways._ She struck the thought from her head, but could feel herself blushing. Diving out of the male agent's sight, she dashed over to the hybrid, popped the trunk and was pleased to find out that her boss was right. _Bio-bags!_

She took the environmental threat from Morgan's hands, exchanged the bag that the products were in and threw it back at him light-heartedly. Hotch watched on, enjoying their playful banter. It was as much a part of their team Reid's smarts, Rossi's misplaced understanding, JJ's preparedness or Garcia's brightness. And his… there were times where he couldn't exactly articulate what he brought to the team, and he guessed that it was just one of those times.

"I should get going," Emily pronounced, interrupting Hotch's thoughts and Morgan's teasing.

"They'll think you abandoned them for a night of summer-lovin'," Morgan joked.

Hotch cracked a smile and Emily glanced in his direction. Their look held for several seconds, and the third wheel was starting to get a little edgy. Until…

"You should go, Prentiss." Hotch's voice was stern once more and he could see her deflated expression. He hadn't wanted her to leave anyway, but there was work to be done.

"Or McCready will think you smashed his hippie-mobile," Morgan joked.

Emily's eyes rolled as she walked away from them. _Hippie-mobile? Why is humour always the response to tension?_ It was unfortunate that Hotch never saw it that way. The way she and Morgan reacted to tense situations seriously was often vastly different, but when they fell back on their laughs, they were peas in a pod. As she drove away from the unlit natural shelter of roadside Oaks, Emily drew herself back to the look in her boss' eyes just moments earlier.

She had felt Morgan's apprehension. _Had he noticed something?_ Her feelings for her boss was definitely not something that she wanted broadcasted to her entire team and if the others were half-way good at their job, then they already knew something.

---

Hotch found himself in a daze the following morning. His concern for Emily's safety meshed with his unnatural feeling that something unfortunate would happen to her was putting a dent in his superhero complex. He felt as though he should be doing something, but if he had to be honest, then he would have to say that he had no clue as to what that something was.

He stared across the precinct's empty squadroom. It was too early for the day shift of law enforcement to arrive, too late for the night shift to be anywhere but where the coffee was, and his team was AWOL at the same time. He saw Reid on the other side of the room in a vehement webcam discussion with Garcia, and had remembered that Rossi and Morgan had left ten minutes ago, told him where they were going, but, as per usual for the past few days, he hadn't listened. Now, Supervisory Special Agent in Charge Aaron Hotchner felt lost. Not even a little disorientated. Just lost.

Pulling his head in enough to think about what he could be doing to assist Emily, and in a wider sense, his extremely capable team in the investigation, he walked over to join Reid and Garcia.

"But why the sulfuric acid?" he heard Garcia say. "They didn't use it before."

"What's this?" Hotch pulled up a chair behind Reid and adopted a very masculine approach to sitting on it.

"I received a report that a substantial quantity of sulfuric acid and nitric acid have gone missing from the University of Texas Health Science Center Fayez S. Sarofim Molecular Biology Research Building." And as an after thought, she added, "That was a mouthful."

"How substantial?" the boss asked.

"They're still checking through their messy inventory but as far as I can tell they're missing about five litres of 18 molar sulfuric acid and possibly twenty of 24 molar white fuming nitric acid," Garcia answered.

"Considering the concentration of the sulfuric acid, my guess is that it would be used as a catalyst for a chemical reaction of some kind," Reid told him.

"What kind?"

"More reactions than the Mensan has time to illuminate," Garcia answered for him.

"But given its quantity in addition to the WFNA, it will probably be used to concentrate the level of nitronium ions in the solution," Reid added.

"Nitronium ions?" Hotch could definitely say, albeit with no amount of certainty, that he did not really belong with the scientific minds of the present company.

"More bang for the buck," Garcia explained. And Hotch definitely didn't need more than that.

"They're altering their MO, now the size of the bomb," Reid continued, "and it's a fair bet to say that they will intend to kill more people this time."

"And they intended to confuse with this change," Hotch put in. "They're intelligent enough to know that we would look at the same materials they used last time."

"It could suggest prior knowledge of law enforcement."

"Or that they watch TV," Hotch delivered, knocking back Reid's unsubstantiated conclusion, before heading back to the side of the room from whence he came.

"Where are the others?" Garcia asked, more out of concern for her colleagues after this recent news broke rather than any attempt to change the conversation.

"JJ's on Emily's detail with the head of the Houston FBI office," Reid answered, "and Morgan and Rossi left about fifteen minutes ago to re-interview more of the executive staff of Emerson Petroleum in light of the fact that most of the oil workers from yesterday's counter-environmentalist protest are employed there."

"Really?" Garcia questioned and Reid could tell by her tone that the blonde technical analyst on northern side of the country fully intended to gossip. "So how much trouble is our neighbourhood Planeteer in with the Bossman?"


End file.
